Silent Hill: Ashes to Ashes
by Snodin
Summary: A young girl has committed suicide in the local high school, but something doesn't quite add up. Detective Cheryl Mason is on the case, whether she likes it or not.
1. The Victim

_I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of screams. Someone is running for their lives in the alleyway near my house. I can hear him gasping for air, his footsteps pounding on wet cement in his mad race for cover. But then it stops- the running, the screaming. He's cornered. He makes one last scream, and then all is silent._

_I was born in this town. Twice. …Or was it three times? I can't quite remember. The point is this: I am linked to this town, I am one with it. I see all, both tangible and intangible. I alone can hear the desperate cries of those who lose themselves in the darkness. There is very little I can do for them, because their demons are theirs alone to face. I know, because I've already faced mine. _

_And yet, I'm still living in this nightmare, a nightmare from which I may never be able to wake up. But I guess that's what you get when you live here… in Silent Hill._

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**SILENT HILL: ASHES TO ASHES**

**Snodin**

**I: Monster In The Mirror**

.

Kait Lancaster was only fifteen years old, a proper Catholic school girl it seemed. That is, except for one thing: Kait liked to burn things. Ever since she was a toddler, she loved to watch candles burn; there were some birthdays when she stared at the wax candles melt into her birthday cake, her parents pleading her to blow them out- her eyes would tear up when she finally did. Then at the tender age of five, she found her father's missing matches, and taught herself how to flick them until they burned. She could stare at those tiny flames for hours if she could, but they always burned out too soon. Her heart sank as each lit match put itself out, one by one. Oh, if only she could find a way to make them last longer…

Then when she was thirteen, she and her mother got into a heated argument about the bullies in her school, how she wanted her mother to do something about them and how her mother was powerless to do so. In a fit, Kait stormed out of the house and into an alley where she caught the unmistakable glimpse of a small blaze. Curiously she entered the alley, and there she found a homeless man standing by a steel trashcan, its innards blazing in fire. He told her that he had to light the trash so that it could keep him warm, and so she joined him. But Kait wasn't there to keep warm; her focus was on the flame itself. Finally, he had her answer to the match dilemma. From that day on, whenever she and her mother got into a pointless argument, she would steal her father's matches, sneak out of the house and into the alleyway, picking up flammable discarded paper (or her notebook sleeves, whichever was available), and set her own little flame in the old trash can. This was her way of coping with her teenage angst, and for a while it worked.

But then, one evening, she went too far.

There were rumors going around about a small cult in the neighborhood, and that its members would always gather at the old Balkan Church. It had been burned once already, years before Kait was born, and had only recently been restored. But very few people would dare enter it, fearing it was haunted or some silly superstition like that. There was no knowing if there really was a cult gathering there, unless one was brave enough to investigate. Kait was one such brave soul, even at the age of fifteen. Carrying her "lucky lighter" with her- something she had picked up off the street and kept as a charm- she snuck into the building like a thief in the night, crouching and tip-toeing her way down the aisles, until at last she came to the bema. Where there should have been an altar, there was gaping hole in the floor, which caught young Kait by surprise. Funny how most of the building had been rebuilt, and yet this, the most important feature of any church, was nothing more than a void. Even the stained glass windows behind it seemed odd; there was no image of Christ or even his apostles, or even a simple cross, but a red angel with its wings spread out. Its face was a bit distorted, probably because of the art style of the chopped up glass. But as she stared up at the angel, a cold chill ran down her spine. Something about this just wasn't right. Perhaps the rumors were true, and this was indeed the church of an anti-Christian cult.

She felt sick with disgust; growing up Catholic, who could blame her? After all, angels were servants to the one true God, and as if adding insult to injury, these freaks were using a church to worship their false idol. It made her furious… furious enough to switch on her lighter, which she had never done before until now. With the strangers gone, Kait snaked her way past the void in the floor and toward the closest thing to the stained glass window that was flammable, the Deacon doors.

"Let's see if your angel likes fire." _Flick._

Ah, but it was all too flammable. Poor Kait didn't know that the wood in the doors were so dry, that her lighter's tongue became a raging blaze, swallowing up the entire wall where the angel in the glass stood. Fearful of getting burned herself, she raced down the nave, but as the fire reached the ceiling's arches, debris began to rain down. The wires of the ceiling lights sparked, and glass showered onto her, and even the carpet under her feet was beginning to burn. She was just inches away from the door, when a large wooden chunk came crashing down on her from above. She lay on the floor, struggling to push herself free, when a flame from the burning block licked her face. She screamed in agony and began to frantically thrash about her limbs as the flames began to soak her clothes and skin. But just when it seemed all was lost, salvation came, and in the most ironic of forms: a robed figure found her and dragged her to safety as she lost consciousness.

When she woke up in the hospital, most of her head was bandaged up save for her right side, as were her arms and limbs. She had suffered second and third degree burns, but survived. And within a few weeks, she would recover enough to have her bandages removed… but when that day came, she looked into the mirror and saw a monster. Red scars covered most of her face, especially on her left side where the only human feature she had left was her left blue eye. Part of her scalp was bald, and there was no certainty if the hair that was burned off would ever grow back. Her lips were swollen and pained, and her left hand was mangled. She didn't even want to know what the rest of her looked like, at least not immediately. She stood there for what felt like hours, gazing into the reflection of this beast she created. It all hit home now: God was angry with her for setting fire to his temple, and this was her punishment. Kait frowned in utter despair.

.

Weeks went by, and summer changed to fall.

Some of Kait's scars had vanished, but her face was still reddened and scarred. Also, her forehead had a patch of bald where long, silky black hair used to be. She had regained feeling in most of her skin, except for her left hand which was covered by a dark glove she herself decided on. In fact, most of her body was covered now, in light pantyhose, long black boots, a short skirt and a long-sleeved sweater, all giving off a Gothic appearance. It fit her nicely, this Gothic look. It suited the fact that she was very quiet now, quiet and aloof. At school, no one wanted to speak to her let alone look at her (except for the teachers of course, they had no choice), and as a result she became a bit of a recluse.

It seemed as though Kait was a new girl now- new face, new clothes, and new opinion on fire. Fire was evil, fire was the Devil's tool, fire was what made her a monster. And while her parents were admittedly relieved that their daughter would never again steal matches or cigarette lighters, this new Kait concerned them all the more. Even when they asked her if she wanted to go through surgery that would reconstruct her face, she refused. Not just because she was afraid to, but because she wanted the scars to remind her of her sin, the sin that nearly killed her.

.

October came, and the school halls were covered in Halloween decorations. The other teens talked amongst themselves about what they were going to do on the holiday; some admitted that they were more interested in Mischief Night, while others said they were going to dress up and go trick-or-treating. Nobody bothered to ask what Kait was going to do, except one or two obnoxious boys who said, "She's already dressed up, she's going as Freddy Kreuger's Daughter." They even dared to say this while she was in earshot, but she made no attempt to defend herself. She just sat in her chair, far in the back of the class, with a hoodie draped over her head.

When Halloween crept closer, Kait fell even deeper into her despair, wearing her black hoodie sweater over her school uniform every day. She kept her face toward the floor, careful not to look anyone in the eye. Not even those young girls who showed pity for her, asking her if she was feeling alright. She no longer saw a difference between friend or foe. In her mind, they were all judging her. Just as God above was judging her.

"Kait? Did you hear me?" asked the young red-haired girl walking beside her in the hall. "I was asking if you were doing anything on Saturday. We're all going out to the movies, you wanna come with? …Kait?"

Kait's ears heard nothing but static, like radio static as a result of a knob stuck between stations. That's sort of what her mind was like now, stuck between reality and a void of darkness. And now, the static was growing stronger, and the ceiling lights began to flicker. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light, dark, light, dark, light-dark-light-dark-lightdarklightdarklight- _**Foom!**_

**Kait opened her eyes, and saw a haze of green. She looked left and right, and realized that she was all alone, in that same school hallway… Only now, the entire hallway was set upside down. She was standing on the ceiling!**

"**What the hell…?"**

**She paused, feeling panicked for a moment, until her blood pressure calmed. She could feel gravity working with her perspective; there was no feeling of disorientation or dizziness; it was as if she was right side up, while everything else was facing the wrong way. She moved forward, careful not to step directly over the ceiling lights for fear she might crush them. The hallway seemed to have no end, no matter how long she walked, there was no wall at the end of the trail. There were, however, classroom doors. She reached out to pull one open. It was locked. She moved up to the next one. Locked. The one night to that one, also locked. Then at last, she came to a fourth door, and it was unlocked. She pulled the doorknob and entered.**

**It was Mister King's algebra room. There was no change to it, except for the green hue of the atmosphere and the fact that everything and everyone was upside down. And yes, there were people there- seven white-robed figures sitting in desks, each one covered head to toe in angelic white robes, and their faces were hidden by white masks with small, round eyeholes. And there were no eyes under those holes, just black voids. And there were no mouth pieces, just small red lines that curled into smiles. Kait dared to walk up to one and lean in to speak to it- "Hello? Who are you?" but no answer, not even a flinch. The white figure just stared blankly at the blackboard ahead, just like the other six.**

**Kait moved forward, and saw that there was a red-robed figure in the teacher's desk, it too masked with small black eyeholes, except its red and white were reversed- a red mask with a small white-painted smile. He, or she, was writing some scribble on a piece of paper on the desk. Kait leaned in to see what the figure was scribbling, but it was such a distorted mess that she couldn't decipher it. **

"**Hello? …Mister King, is that you?"**

**No answer from the red one, just scribbling and scribbling.**

**Frustrated, Kait walked out of the room and back into the endless hall.**

**In the hall, more white-robed figures floated across the upturned floor, like quiet ghosts, all of which were oblivious to the right side-up girl's presence. Each one wore a mask with a slightly different line where their mouth would have been; some wore red smiles, others red frowns, and others more slightly opened "mouths," indicating that they were speaking to each other. But no voices came to Kait's ears; all she heard from them was radio static. Their presence was beginning to creep her out; she began to wonder, "Are**_** they**_** the ghosts, or am**_** I**_**?" No longer able to stand it, she ran for the one door she knew had to be open: the bathroom door.**

**As it was in the real world, the bathroom was like a sanctuary, a place to hide in whenever the bullying and name-calling became too much to bear. The room was darkened by lack of light, but there was still a slight hint of green hue on the walls and ceiling/floor. Curiously, she explored the stalls, opening each one to see if the white ghosts were sitting on the upside-down toilets. But each stall was empty, and amazingly, no water was pouring from the porcelain seats. She chuckled softly, despite her growing fears.**

**The last place left to explore was the front wall where the sinks and large mirror were. Before anything else, she tested the sink nozzles one by one, and watched in wonder as water poured out in the right direction, downward to her feet instead of up into the sink bowls. This was indeed curious; how was it that everything else about the school was in the wrong direction, and yet this water was acting according to gravity? Then a frightening thought crossed her mind: what if this was the one room where down was down and up was up? What if this room was actually separated from the world beyond its doors? That would mean that this could be the way back to her own world, where there were children instead of masked ghosts. All she had to do was find a hole… the mirror, perhaps. Yes, the mirror. She gazed into it…**

"…**oh god…. Oh, God, no…. No! ….NoooAAAAAUUUGH!"**

**There was no human girl on the other side of the glass, but in her stead was a naked, grotesque red beast covered in burn scars from head to toe. It had no eyes, yet it was crying tears of blood. It had small patches of black hair- her hair. Its head was stretched out and distorted, with a long jawless mouth that seemed to be screaming forever. There were no teeth, no tongue, just a scream. **

**This was her reflection. This was her. She knew this, because when she looked down at her own hands, they too were grotesquely burned and wrinkled with scars. Her old self melted away, and was replaced with the mirror's reflection, a red, scratched, blind, jawless beast that couldn't stop screaming. Even when she tried to jump through the mirror to escape the nightmare, it was still screaming.**

_CRASH!_

Young Samantha Wallace entered the bathroom after hearing a terrible crash, and screamed in horror. Running into the hall, she could only point with a quivering finger, showing the way for Mister King. When he entered the girl's bathroom, he cupped his mouth in horror, in sight of the lifeless body of Kait Lancaster, her head smashed into the mirror.

.

Some would say that Kait's story ends there, but it really doesn't. That next morning, my telephone rang. I was still half asleep when I reached out and picked up the phone on the desk next to my bed.

"Yeah."

The male voice on the other side of the phone replied. _"Mason? You up?"_

I yawned. "This is her answering machine. Please leave a message."

"_Very funny. Listen, we got a call from the school. It's an apparent suicide."_

"You do realize that this is my day off, don't you Sam?"

"_The Chief wants you on this one, he says it's right up your alley."_

"Oh, Christ… What time is it?"

"_Eight fourty-six. Get dressed, it's gonna be a long day."_

"Right. I'll be there." I rubbed my eyes before I hung up the phone.

Jesus. I knew what he meant when he said "right up my alley." This was indeed going to be a long day.

.

**TBC**


	2. The Officer

_After living in Silent Hill for several years now, I've come to the conclusion that there are two kinds of people here: those who celebrate Halloween, and those who don't._

_Everyone here celebrates most holidays- Christmas, New Year's, Fourth of July, for examples. But not everyone celebrates Halloween. Not many people decorate their house in orange lights and spooky images for the holiday, or dress up and go to costume parties, and even fewer give out candy when kids dressed in their favorite character knocks on their door. _

_Those that do, however, tend to be the ones who walk down the street with a smile on their face, who go about their business like this was just another town in Anywhere, USA. They never give you a glare of suspicion, or act antsy around dark corners. I suspect that they're all blissfully ignorant of the town's "other" side. I call them The Lucky Ones._

_As for me? I'm part of the other crowd. Sure, I'll give out the candy, and I'll put some autumn leaves in my window to show that I at least respect the time of year. But don't expect me to dress up as a ghost or a witch anytime soon. Why bother, when I've seen the real thing? I know what walks among us in the night; and no, they don't come out for just once a year. _

_To me, every day is Halloween in Silent Hill._

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**II: Friends on the Other Side**

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**Midwich High School. Friday morning.**

It was cold, even for mid-October. The sky was grey, nothing unusual about that. There was a small chill in the air, nothing unusual about that either. My red car rolled into the school parking lot; a teacher started to approach me with anger in his eyes until I pulled out my cop badge. That was enough to stop him in his tracks and allow me to walk up to my boss. Chief of Police Karl Baxter.

"Detective," he mused in his usual gruff voice. "You're a little late."

I brushed my short bleach blonde hair and retorted, "I'm off today, chief."

"Not anymore, you're not. They're bringing out the body right now."

Quietly, he and I stood by the school's front entrance and watched as two paramedics squeezed through the doors, pulling with them a wheeled stretcher with a white cloak covering the body of what appeared to be a five-foot tall corpse. They moved it past us and into the ambulance parked just outside the school's front gate. I sighed deeply.

"Name?"

The chief pulled out a cigarette, shoved it in his mouth, and lit it with a small match. "Kaitlyn Lancaster, sixteen years old. They found her in the bathroom with a fractured skull. Apparently, she tried to throw herself through a mirror."

I shook my head in despair. "Jesus, Karl. They're getting younger every day. Was she bullied?"

"They say she was, due to her being badly burned from a freak accident months ago. You remember the story on the church fire?"

"Oh, yeah. That was her?"

"Same girl, yeah. We talked to her parents then, and they said she was seeing a therapist. And nobody owned the building, so no charges were pressed."

I crossed my arms and furrowed m eyebrows. "So we know a lot about her already- arson, social disorder, and now suicide. Looks like an open and shut case, chief. Why exactly am I here again?"

"Case ain't closed just yet, detective." I just gave him a displeased frown, which softened his tone. "…Look, Cheryl, I realize this is cutting into your off time, but you seem to have a knack for these kinds of cases. The girl was obviously troubled, and now she's suddenly dead. I feel like we're missing something here, a big piece of the puzzle, and you're one of my best people that can find that piece and make it all fit."

I cracked a small smile. "I got it, chief. But before I do anything, I'd like to look at the crime scene first. Sort of get a feel of the place, you know?"

"Sure, we can go in now that the kids were sent home already."

"I'd like to examine that spot alone."

His eyes widened a bit. "Alone?"

I gave him a deep glance. "Trust me on this."

He gave me a small nod of agreement, and I made my move.

I had to hand it to the chief, for being a detective for nearly two years, he had a lot of faith in me. When I was a mere officer, I worked the night shift and was responsible for bringing in the "wackies," as he called them. To people like him, the wackies were lost men and women wandering the streets, screaming about monsters or shooting off their guns at nothing. But I saw what they saw, and I kept reassuring them that everything was going to be alright. I talked them through the worst of their demon-hunting; that is, until they were locked up for the night. The chief saw that I had potential, and he was the one that convinced me to take a training course for detective work. I agreed because I knew that as a detective, I could work more closely to victims and criminals- folks who were fighting the demons that no one else could see. This became my life, and in a way it even brought me a bit of peace.

But for the first time, I was now working with a victim who was already dead. I had my work cut out for me, but I was willing to give it a try. After all, I of all people should know that in this town, the dead don't always stay dead.

With a flashlight in hand, I prowled through the hall slowly and carefully, until I came to the bathroom door that was sealed off by yellow "Do Not Pass" tape. I pushed through into the bathroom itself to see the lined chalk where the body fell. Even the figure seemed too small, it made me sigh. Poor kid, I thought. I knelt down by the chalk, as if the body was still there and I wanted to say my final goodbyes. But really, I knelt down to smell the air. There are times when I could literally smell the magic of the Otherworld, only this time I smelled nothing but chalk. Yet I knew, I just knew, that there was a doorway here- a doorway to the Other Side.

I stood up and stared at the fractured mirror; there were still some small drippings of the girl's blood. I was sure the forensic team took samples and dusted prints. I leaned forward until I was so close to the mirror's glass that I could touch it with my eyelashes. It got cold, suddenly, and fiercely. The air turned foul, and I leaned back just in time to see a familiar faceless figure on the other side of the fractured glass. He only appeared in the glass shards, the rest of him and his doorway was torn off by the wood made visible by the girl's impact.

"Did you see it happen?" I whispered. "…Were you there?"

Valtiel's head shuddered but didn't nod; this was his way of telling me no.

I whispered again, "Is she in there?"

His head bobbled up and down violently.

A chill ran down my spine, but I couldn't lose focus now. "Okay," I whispered to him. "I need you to help me on this, old friend. I need you to find her, let me talk to her. Can you do that?"

Again, his head bobbled, rattling as it shook. Then he held out his hands, his fingers wiggled almost playfully.

I gave him a nod. "I know. It'll take some time, but until a gate opens up for me, there's not much else I can do. Just… If you find her, give me a sign. Alright?"

He cocked his head like a dog looking for a treat. I took that as a yes.

With a blink of my eyes, the darkness lifted around me. I was now looking at my own mirrored reflection, no stench of death in the air. The Other Side was shut off from me.

.

I walked back outside to meet up with my boss, who was on his second (or third) cigarette already. He puffed smoke as he asked, "What'd you find, anything new?"

"I saw what I needed to see," I responded in a small voice.

He didn't hear me. "What was that?"

In a louder voice I replied, "You were right, there's something weird going on here. Girls don't just throw themselves at mirrors; something or some_one_ triggered her behavior."

"It's a big school- any one of those kids could have pushed her into doing it. Hell, one of them coulda done it and made it look like a suicide, you know what I mean?"

"I'll start interviewing the kids, starting with the witness. I'll talk to the parents of the victim too; maybe they didn't tell us her whole story."

"Your witness is already writing up her story at the station. If you hurry, you could still catch her."

I walked toward my red car as I asked, "Anybody else I should talk to, chief?"

"There was a teacher who called us in, but he says he didn't see anything. Dunno if he's a liable witness or not."

As I opened the door of the driver's seat and hopped in I muttered, "I'll be the judge of that." I slammed the car door shut and started the engine.

While my car was pulling out of the school premises in reverse, I caught a glimpse of two shadows in my visors. I quickly hit the brakes, giving myself a small case of whiplash in the process. Turns out the shadows running past my car were two small children in makeshift ghost sheets, chasing each other down the street in light of the coming holiday, hooting and hollering like a pair of bats of out hell.

While I slowly regained my composure, I sighed in aggravation. "I hate this time of year."

.

**TBC**


	3. The Witness

_The Otherworld calls to you, whispers to you. It wants you to face your fears, and your inner demons. Most of those demons are merely grotesque shadows, designed to scare and confuse you. But they're nothing compared to that One._

_You know him. You see him in your nightmares. He takes many forms: a giant masked executioner, wielding a deadly weapon- perhaps a long rusty knife, or a butcher's cleaver, or a grand hammer with a cinderblock for a gavel. Whatever his form is, his motive is always the same: conquer, or be conquered. And while some have faced this monster and defeated it, others weren't so lucky._

_Heaven help the poor soul who falls… to the Bogeyman._

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**III: You Bring Out the Worst In Me**

.

No one ever had a bad thing to say about Randal King, not even the kids that struggled through his classes. At thirty-seven, he was a tall and slim Caucasian man with light blue eyes and light brown hair that was turning grey on the sides of his face. Strange that he was already greying in his late thirties; perhaps it was genetic. But he showed no signs of weakness, other than his soft, almost timid voice.

Randal was in his 8am Algebra class that fateful morning, sitting at his desk while students began to enter and take their seats. But he wasn't quite ready to lecture them just yet, not until he first skimmed through his personal journal, which he pulled out from a drawer in his desk. He had turned to the seventh page in his book; the first line read, _"Monday, August 20, 10:15 am-10:46am," _while the very next line read, _"Wednesday, September 12, 5:12pm-6:59pm,"_ and the next read, _"Wednesday, September 12, 10:43pm-12:02am."_ The next dates and times were all over the place, between mid-September and early October of that year. At the moment, he seemed to have been studying the list as though he was looking for a pattern in the dates, hours and so on, but he was at a loss. He then started to write down the moon phases next to the hours in a faint hope that the moon may have held the key to a mystery he was trying to solve.

That's when a cold chill fell upon the classroom. The lights on the ceiling flickered for a brief moment, but it seemed that only Randal noticed and glanced upward while his half-asleep students chatted amongst each other. Randal's eyes were fixed on the ceiling; he could smell that familiar scent of damp concrete emulating from there. Quickly, he turned the page of his journal to the next empty space, and quickly jotted down: _"Thursday, October 18…"_ he checked his watch before writing, _"7:58am…"_ Suddenly the room became warm, bright and scent-free again. He sighed and added a period next to the new time in his book.

That's when he heard a young girl screaming in the hallway. Alarmed, he jumped out of his seat and dashed out of his classroom. Young Samantha Wallace was running out of the bathroom in the all, with a trembling finger pointing at the doorway.

"Samantha. What happened, who's in there?" he asked hurriedly.

She opened her mouth but couldn't speak; she was beside herself in horror.

Randal gently pushed her aside to approach the bathroom, and when he opened the door, he was met with a truly gruesome sight: the body of young Kaitlyn Lancaster with her head shoved halfway into the mirror of the sink wall. He couldn't scream, he could only gasp and mutter gravely, "Oh God… Kaitlyn, what have you done?"

.

**The Police Station, 3pm.**

I had interviewed Samantha Wallace earlier, and the parents of the recently deceased Kait. Now it came time to speak to the one other man who found the body in the bathroom: Randal King. There was no reason for me to suspect him of the girl's murder, but as soon as I saw him enter the station to be interviewed, I felt a tingle down my spine. We glanced each other for a moment, and in that moment I examined him: clean face, icy blue eyes, soft tan hair brushed backward, silver sideburns, and a preppy pine green sweater over a white blouse and black tie, with rich dark brown suit pants. A real modern day Mister Rogers, I thought. This man looked so picture perfect that I couldn't help but imagine that he was hiding something behind his charming looks. Perhaps I had been at this job for too long- or perhaps I've been in this town for too long- but I couldn't shake the dark suspicion I had for this man. I couldn't wait for the interview.

I sat across from him at a table in a room small enough to make a claustrophobic cringe. I held out two school photos of the victim, Kait Lancaster, as if I suspected him of her murder. "Just say for the record what your name is for starters," I said in a dark voice.

The teacher squirmed in his seat nervously. "My name is Randal King, I'm a teacher at Midwich High."

"Tell me what you know about Kait. What was she like? Did she seem depressed to you? Were there signs that she might have been suicidal?"

He swallowed. "Sh-she was very quiet in my class, never raised her hand to answer one of my questions. But she always sat in the far back- I think she was ashamed of her scars."

"Do you know how she got those scars, Mr. King?"

"I've heard she got them from a fire- er, an accident."

"She _was_ in a fire- a church fire, which she started. You know anything about it?"

His eyes darted for a moment. It was a clear sign that he did know of the fire, and wasn't sure how to respond. "It was the old Balkan church on Bloch Street. Wasn't it?"

"Yes. That was four months ago."

He bowed his head slightly. "That poor girl. It must have been traumatizing… Still, I wasn't sure if there was anything I could have done for her- I'm just a teacher, not a counselor."

"I understand. But did she have a counselor? Anyone at all?"

He shook his head. "I don't know…"

He was clearly nervous about something; he was sweating slightly, and I can tell you that the lighting in the room was nowhere near hot enough to cause a heat wave. Holding back my suspicions, I leaned back in my chair and said as calmly as ever, "So basically what you're telling me is, you know absolutely nothing."

"That's what I'm telling you," he confirmed.

I wasn't buying it. Something about this guy rubbed me the wrong way, and I wasn't about to let him leave. I changed the subject: "So tell me, me, Mister King, what do you teach at the school?"

"Algebra I and II, and Biology."

"Ah… Do your students cut up dead animals?"

"You mean dissect them? Yes, once a year I go through that with the juniors and seniors."

"Frogs?"

"Sometimes frogs, other times mice."

"Gross."

"What's gross, Detective? Their innards, or the fact that we cut them open?"

"Both. I remember I had to open a toad in high school; I almost lost my lunch in front of everybody." I wasn't lying; I had a weak stomach back then- of course, that was before I started seeing zombie dogs with sliced-open heads.

"I'm sorry if that offends you, Detective, but it's part of the school's criteria. It won't change unless teachers sign a petition to ban dissections in school."

The demeanor in his voice started to change from timid to confident; I had him in his element now. Perhaps this was my moment to pounce: "Kait was in your biology class, wasn't she?"

"Yes, but she was a sophomore. Sophomores don't dissect animals."

"But did she struggle at all in your classes?"

"No, she was a very good student, she just never spoke up."

Damn. I was losing my case. I thought I had him, and now he was becoming more confident than ever. It was time to pull out all the stops: "What about your other students? Did you notice any hostility from them toward her?"

"Hostility? What do you mean?"

"Did you spot them teasing her, or taunting her in any way?"

His bottom lip quivered. "I… I don't… I'm not sure."

"Mister King. Do you have any reason at all to suspect that this wasn't a suicide? That it was foul play?"

He let out a gasp of horror. "How… How could you say that? About my students! They're all good kids, Detective! No, there is no way any one of them would have done this to Kaitlyn! This is… I have nothing more to say." In his fit of anger, he rose to his feet and prepared to storm off.

I tried to stop him by saying, "This interview isn't over, Mister King."

"It _is _over!" he snapped back, and stormed out the door. "If you want to speak to me again, Detective, you'll hear from my lawyer."

I followed behind him, but I knew it was hopeless. His statement was recorded, and there was no evidence to back my suspicions of him or that he was hiding anything. But just as he started to put on his dark overcoat, his blouse sleeve was pulled back slightly, and I swear I saw a hint of red on his arm. I would have said something about it, but he was too quick to march out of the police station, a free man.

I made a mental note: keep an eye on that one, and don't forget the red on his arm.

.

**5:42pm.**

I got home just in time for Howard Blackwood to show up at my door, pushing small letters into the inbox nailed to my front door, while carrying his oversized mailbag over his right arm. Funny, I didn't usually get mail so late in the day.

As I pulled into the driveway, he gave me a friendly wave. "Good afternoon, Ms. Mason."

I got out of the car and smiled back. "Hey, Howard. Get any good news for me today?"

"Sorry Ms. Mason," shrugged the old mailman, "just the monthly bills… Oh, but there is this one big package, here." He reached into his mailbag and pulled out a small wrapped box. "It's got your name on it- no address, but lucky for me I know where you live."

"Hmm," I purred as he handed me the small box. "No return address, either."

"Seems like whoever made it was in a hurry," shrugged the mailman. "Well, I gotta go. So many letters, so little time. Bye, Ms. Mason."

I waved goodbye before entering my house, unable to keep my eyes off of the box.

I lived alone, with only one couch in my living room that sat opposite my television set. There wasn't much else to see in the room, except for the lamps on their small tables, one of which also held a small picture frame with a photo of my father in it. There is rarely a moment that I pass by that picture without looking or glancing at it. Sometimes it helps just to remember what he looked like. ...But now I'm getting off topic; back to the box.

I walked into the dining room and placed the box on the table before taking a pair of scissors from the kitchen to swipe the taping from its hinges. Not sure what to expect, I kept the box as much in tact as I could, almost like someone trying to diffuse a bomb. But when I opened it, I peeked in and saw something twinkle- metal luster. I pulled out from the box a small object made from fused metals into a circle, with a glass frame. Inside the frame was a small red triangle, floating and bobbing left and right; I could only guess that the interior was filled with water to give the triangle buoyance.

"What is this? …Some kind of compass?" I wondered aloud.

There were hand-painted black lines in the frame, each pointing outward from all sides like the minutes and hours of a clock. This could have been a compass, except there wasn't any sign of a magnet being used, because the red triangle- the arrow- was bobbing in all directions. Who makes a compass like this?

Then I turned the object around to observe the back, and saw a very familiar image: scratched into the fine rusty metal were two circles, one inside the other, and in the center of the smaller one was a pyramid with squiggly lines running through it. There were squiggly lines running between the circles like smaller symbols, but they were so mismatched and simplistic that they'd be hard to decipher. I've seen this symbol once before and I've sworn I'd never forget it: The Seal of Metatron.

A chill ran down my spine as it hit me just who sent this package. "Valtiel…?"

.

A few days went by, and life for Randal seemed to be back on track, only now he had a permanent frown on his face. He was clearly still distraught from the sudden loss of one of his favorite students, but true to form he kept his feelings to a minimum.

He couldn't take his eyes off of that one page with its last entry: _"Thursday, October 18, 7:58am_." He remembered vividly the moment when he felt that familiar chill in the air, the kind of chill that can only come from the dead of winter, and that disgusting smell of damp stone coming from the ceiling. There was no sign of water dripping from there, so it had to be a sign from that other realm. He also remembered that it was the minute in which Kaitlyn died. Surely, this was no coincidence. She was the one It called to.

Unable to cope with this revelation, he closed his journal, out it in his suitcase and stood up from his table to announce, "Everyone, listen up. I'm suddenly taken ill, so we'll be ending this session early today."

There were no arguments from the already bored to death students; some even cheered softly as they jumped from their seats. There was no celebrating in Randal's mind; what he was sensing could no longer be ignored. He had to get out of there, he just _had_ to.

.

Randal King lived alone, in a small house in the rural area just outside Central Silent Hill. His home had nothing much to speak of, just the usual furniture and electric appliances. Except there was no television, and the only telephone he had was an old-fashioned one with a wheel-turn dial. He seemed to be living in the 1930s, or something, and that's the kind of reaction one would have at just the first glance of this house. But there was so much more to it than that…

In his bedroom, he threw off his suit jacket onto his bed and even discarded his sweater and necktie until he had nothing left but his blouse and suit pants. Then from his closet, he pulled out the one garment that very few people would ever dare own: a red robe, the kind you might find being worn by a choir member in church. Only this robe also had a monk-like hood to it; dressing in the robe, he threw the hood over his face. He then grabbed a small satchel on his dresser and took off.

With satchel over his arm, he descended into his basement where his most secret of books lined up in shelves along the walls. There were even hand-painted drawings of old relics on the wall, symbols that could have been traced back to Ancient Egypt or even Babylon. But there was only one book that he needed, one he pulled from a desk near the center of the room: his prayer book. He flipped through the pages until he came to the one that instructed a ritual that involved finger-painting the floor in red. When he did this, his index finger made two circles, one smaller than the other, and a triangle in the very center with squiggly lines running through it. When he completed the Seal of Metatron, he knew to stand directly in its center, and with book in hand, he had to call out the following words:

"In the name of Mighty Samael, Mother and Father, Creator and Destroyer, I pray that thee open the Gates of Darkness and allow me entry. Great Valtiel, protect me. Great Judge, have mercy on me. I come to you willingly, body and soul. Mighty Samael, Mother and Father…"

There was a small rumble in the ground, which stopped him in mid-chant. The walls cracked, including the book shelves like they were made of paper. Everything withered away except for the seal and the man trapped inside it, giving way** to a void of darkness.**

**When he inhaled, he became overwhelmed by that disgusting scent of dampness, as though a torrent had passed by and drowned the entire room. He winced in disgust, but he knew now that he was there, in the Other Realm. Though technically he was still in his basement and house, only now nothing looked quite the same; the walls were stripped bare, and there was very little light. He was wise to have been carrying a satchel with him, for inside was a flashlight. He pulled it out and flicked it on, and observed the grimy mold on the walls. None of this was real, he reminded himself. He then followed the light to the stairs and onto the first phase of his investigation.**

.

It took a little while for the compass' arrow to finally settle on a point, and when it did I jumped into my car and decided to follow its direction. With the compass in my passenger's seat, my eyes switched from the road ahead to the pointing arrow every now and again to see if I was following it correctly. I was halfway into the midtown area when a sudden wall of smoke came toward my path. I knew this cloud of dust all too well.

"Oh no… Not now…!"

I was forced to park the car on the side of the street as the wall of murky fog took me in… **I paused, grasping my arms as a wintry chill hit my face. I seized the compass in one hand, my revolver in the other, and carefully got out of the car and started to walk aimlessly in the fog. It wasn't long until I heard eerie howling sounds in the distance, and though my vision was almost completely blinded by the mist, I could hear paws charging toward me.**

"**Relax, Cheryl… They're just shadows… Just sha-YAGH!" I squealed as I dodged a four-legged beast jumping toward me. I couldn't tell if it was one of those Split-Heads, but it was definitely shaped like a canine.**

"**Dogs… Why are there always dogs here?"**

**Aside from the compass, the only other thing I had on me to light my way was a small flashlight that I had pinned to my jacket. Not that it really mattered, because even with a beam of light ahead of me there was hardly anything to see except smoke. But the compass was still pointing forward, and I had no choice but to follow it.**

**God, how I hated this Otherworld. I must have been in it for over an hour, dodging screaming shadows and charging beasts while following a makeshift compass and fighting my way through mist that could suffocate you. I often wonder if Dad ever had to go through something like this? But finally, after what felt like forever, the compass' arrow shifted right and it led me straight to a small house in the middle of nowhere.**

**Carefully I opened the door, and realized that it was unlocked; the compass must have brought me here for a reason. I entered the house, and everything seemed normal for once. I could no longer see fog, but instead a well-kept living room with no blood on the walls or rusty old metal sheets. The only thing strange about the place was that there was no television. "Huh. Did I walk into an Amish house?"**

**I wasn't out of the Otherworld yet; I could still smell rust and wet dirt in the air. I turned in every direction so that m flashlight could catch any signs of monsters, but it seemed I was all alone. But then as I turned to my far left, I spotted a suitcase on the couch by the windows. I approached it and looked inside and found a small grey-covered book. It looked like a journal. I read the first page: **_**"Randal King/ 555-2514,"**_** it read. The teacher I spoke to earlier; that info alone gave me enough motivation to open the book.**

**I was surprised to see that there were no actual entries in the book, except for dates and times. They all seemed random and without purpose, and I almost put the book down before I stopped at one page near the center and read one line: **_**"April 15**__**th**__**, 6:48pm-8:15pm."**_** …Funny, that date seemed familiar. I read on: **_**"May 18**__**th**__**, 4:45pm… May 19**__**th**__**, 3:30pm… May 30**__**th**__**, 2:21pm… June 21**__**st**__**, 3:50pm."**_** Wait, I remembered that date; that's when I found that one guy screaming for help. He was being chased by his own monsters in the street, not realizing that he was shooting at innocent bystanders. **

**I read another entry: **_**"July 10, 6:12am."**_** Yes, the nurse in the hospital who was crying, saying she saw her past patients coming back to life and attacking her. Both cases involved people being pulled into the Otherworld. As I skimmed through more pages, I could see that they were all times and dates when I was aware that the Otherworld had opened up. And that's when it hit me: King was there when all of these cases took place. He had to have been there! …But how, I wondered?**

**I looked down at the compass and saw that it was still pointing forward, and so I followed it through the dining room, into the kitchen, and toward a closed door that was probably concealing the basement. I reached for the knob, and saw that it was unlocked. And so, I entered.**

**God, the smell of that basement was horrible! It smelled like someone turned on a hose, drenched the place and left it to rot. I had to cover my mouth and nose with a handkerchief I kept in my jacket pocket. My flashlight skimmed across the walls, and saw nothing too out of the ordinary, aside from the rust and mold. But my compass was now pointing straight downward. When I looked down on the floor, I couldn't believe my eyes. In fact, I let out a gasp in reaction to it, the red-painted Seal of Metatron. The compass' arrow was pointing directly at it, and I now knew what it meant.**

**I grit my teeth in refueled anger. "Son of a bitch..."**

**.**

**Randal had left his house long before I arrived, still wearing his red hooded robe and carrying his satchel and flashlight through the eerie mist. He too seemed lost, but was far less afraid than even I would be, because he had been in this world more frequently. In fact, he passed by many grotesque, fleshy creatures along his path without even flinching, mostly because he was equipped with a special pair of binoculars blessed by dark magic; peering through them, he could see which creatures were friendly, and which were not. Most of them as it turned out were just lost and confused souls, trying to find their own way through the fog.**

"**I have to remember where the school was," he told himself as he pressed on.**

**.**

**Suddenly, the compass's arrow twitched and pointed South, showing that it no longer had an interest in the Seal of Metatron. Curiously I followed its direction out of the house. Waiting for me outside was a tall fleshy figure with its face almost completely covered in bandages like a mummy in one of those old movies. It howled and swiped at me with elongated fingers, but I was quick to dodge it. Did **_**he**_** summon this thing against me, I wondered?**

**As I continued on my path, my suspicions of King began to grow. I had an unsettling feeling that he was the one behind this new Otherworld. Perhaps he even had a part in Kait's death. With all of these and other suspicions growing in my head, I started to care less and less about the shadows lurking in the fog. I just had to keep following m compass as its arrow veered left and right, focused on something that was on the move. **

**When the compass' arrow finally began to stop squirming, its direction stopped at the front of Midwich High, the location of the recent suicide. I gulped and readied my gun as I forced myself toward unknown danger.**

**.**

**Randal started to breathe heavier as he took note of the school's interior; the hallway where there should have been lockers and doors to classrooms was instead replaced by long jetting pipes with steam spouting from ventilations. This looked more like an extended boiler room than a school. And indeed, it was so hot in there that he began to sweat. He wiped his brow momentarily when he heard something creaking. A door, perhaps?**

**He dared to call out, "Kaitlyn? …Kaitlyn, are you there? It's me, Mister King. I'm here to help you…" But no answer. He had to press on, while his pulse started to quicken.**

**.**

**While there was still mist snaking the floor, I could see my way through the school's hallway. It seemed harmless enough; there were still lockers and classroom doors, and the occasional trashcan. But which door to open, I wondered? I started to examine each door as I passed them by; the first two were locked, the third was just a bathroom with the same familiar rust and grime. I had no interest in empty rooms, so I went on to the next door. This one was unlocked, and I entered.**

**Inside the first classroom, there were no desks for students or even a teacher, and where there should have been a blackboard seemed like a giant void instead. When I gazed into it, I saw a tall figure with a white mask with no mouth, just black eyes and the rest of it covered by a long black veil. I shot my gun at it, and it shattered into pieces. As it turns out, it was just a mirror all along… But wait. "Was that… **_**my **_**reflection?"**

**.**

**He heard a noise coming from the path behind him. He jumped and pulled out his binoculars. No sign of life; whatever it was, it must have been coming from far down in the hall. But he had already crossed this way. Did he miss something? He decided to backtrack to make sure no stone was unturned.**

**.**

**The walls were starting to fade from white to red, as if blood was starting to pour from the ceiling. Deep down I was hoping- almost praying- that my friend Valtiel was nearby. If my guess was correct, and he did indeed send me this compass, then he must have been somewhere and watching my back. I wanted to look around for him, but was almost afraid to; I was already spooked once by a mirror. I kept walking down that seemingly endless hall when I started to notice a network of steam pipes snaking across the walls- the landscape was shifting, a first for me. **

**Then I heard them: paw steps. Somewhere up ahead, slowly coming closer. The arrow in my compass was pointing straight ahead. Something was here, something bad. I held my gun close to me, expecting the worst.**

**.**

**He had no weapon, at least not in hand. But he was aware that he was not alone; something was creeping up behind him, something big and possibly bad. He reached into his satchel, replacing his binoculars with a small cutting knife, the kind one keeps in the kitchen. Even if this was Kaitlyn approaching, he couldn't take any chances.**

**Then at last, just when the suspense was getting to him, a figure appeared out of the dark: a very tall figure, womanly shaped but veiled in a long black robe, the top half of its face covered by a metallic dome, while the bottom half had a mouth with lips stretched all the way to its ears, as though something had sliced them like that. When its mouth opened, it gave out a snake-like hiss with rows and rows of tiny needle-like fangs. In its right claw was a chain with a flanged mace on its end.**

"**Oh God," he muttered, his hands trembling. "Justice… Justice, have mercy on me."**

**.**

"**What the hell are you?" I asked the creature that stood before me. **

**It was a giant wolf-like beast- yes, it was definitely a wolf and not a dog- but it was hairless with burning red skin. It had two faces fused together, with overlapping jaws and three eyes. It didn't say anything in reply, just gave out a low gurgle. I had to choice but to fire my gun.**

**.**

**Justice threw out her mace, and he dodged it.**

**.**

**He dodged m bullet, despite his massive size. How could that be? I fired again.**

**.**

**She threw out her mace again, and it scraped the wall behind him. Randal threw himself to the floor, unsure of what to do. Could he find the courage to stab this creature, or was this his fate?**

**.**

**The two-faced red wolf threw itself onto the ground; perhaps it was just testing me. I hesitated, but was still aiming my gun at it. Why wasn't it attacking? …Was it afraid?**

**.**

**Oh, yes. He was very much afraid. Desperately, he reached into his satchel for another item, but his adversary wouldn't give him a chance.**

**.**

**I saw its head(s) rearing back and I muttered, "Oh no, you don't." I came at it with my gun blazing.**

**.**

**She came at him with mace swinging. There was no other option for him, it was time to face the Bogeyman.**

**It was time to face… me.**

.

**TBC**


	4. The Conspiracy

_I once met a man named Vincent. _

_He was a tall and thin man, like Randal King, and like King he also wore old-fashioned clothes such as a brown waistcoat over a long-sleeve white blouse, with tan suit pants. I'm even willing to bet he had sewn his own clothes, he was that old-fashioned. But unlike King, Vincent was very outspoken and at times a bit overdramatic. But he was also part of the one group of people that I would learn to hate: a cult that called itself "The Order." _

_I wanted so much to hate him, to blame him for the torment I was going through at the time. But he was a patient man, at least with me he was. He tried over and over again to convince me that not all cultists were evil._

_I asked him if he was on the same side as the woman I was hunting at the time, and while he explained himself, I clearly remember some of the things he said:_ "It's not uncommon for people to worship the same God and still disagree."

"God,"_ I mused. _"Heh, are you sure you don't you mean Devil?"

"Whichever you like,"_ he smiled. _

_He went on about why he wasn't actively trying to stop our common enemy himself, and why I was the one among the two of us who had to "power" to do it. Then I remember something else he said, something that even to this day makes my skin crawl:_

"Don't stand there looking so smug. You're the worst person in this room! You come here, and you enjoy spilling their blood and listening to them cry out… You feel excited when you step on them, and snuff out their lives!"

_I paused, wondering if he was referring to the shadow creatures that were haunting me at the time, those Otherworldly beasts that came in many forms, one more disgusting than the next. I had to kill them before they killed me! Was this man actually sympathizing with them?_

"Are you… talking about the monsters?"

"…Monsters?"_ he echoed, looking quite confused. Then his jaw dropped in realization, and what he said next gave me a terrible surprise: _"They looked like _monsters _to you?"

_Oh God, I thought! I backed away, cupping my mouth as I panted in horror. I was ready to believe that I was killing actual people, when he playfully smiled and said, _"Don't worry. It's just a joke."

_As I calmed myself, he gave me a look of complete satisfaction. It seemed he wanted to rattle me just to get the point across of not judging a book by its cover. He was a very strange man, that Vincent._

_Even though he didn't mean to hurt my feelings at the time, what he said about the monsters possibly being human- or some other form of victims- would be tattooed on my heart from that day forward. I took a silent oath to never judge a book by its cover again… At least, I thought I did._

.

**IV: Law, and The Order**

.

**There I was, trapped in a school hallway that was consumed by the dark Otherworld, facing off against a giant red-skinned wolf-like beast, with hands for paws and an extended bony tail, and two faces spliced or stitched together forming three rows of jagged fangs.**

**I glanced down at my compass, a gift from an old friend, and its arrow was pointing directly towards the Red Wolf. Surely it was telling me to attack this thing, and I had the means to do so. I had already fired two shots, but both missed their target. There was no going back now, I advanced forward and fired two more shots. One bullet grazed the two-faced wolf's left shoulder, and it let out a painful roar. I fired again, and the second one hit its left arm. It winced and backed away until it was pressed against a wall. This was my chance to finally put an end to this monster… But then, **_**he**_** appeared.**

**My friend dropped down from a hole in the ceiling, landing directly in between me and my enemy. But he was facing me and not the beast; he stepped forward with his zombie-like clumsy steps.**

"**Valtiel?" I gasped, still aiming m gun forward. "…Get back! I have to kill this thing!"**

**Even if he could speak, I doubt he would have. All he had to do was reach out with his disfigured, red-gloved hand, and touch the compass in my left hand. Then he gingerly turned it over, revealing the Seal of Metatron on its bottom side. The seal beamed a red light, not unlike a flashlight's glow. While my hand was still on it, Valitel stepped to the side to guide my hand and point the seal onto the Red Wolf. As its light fell onto the crippled creature, the strangest thing happened: its entire body began to wither like ash, piece by piece, until a man appeared from the ashes, the creature's true form: Randal King.**

**As King lay helpless on the floor, clutching his bloodied left arm, a familiar voice came to my mind: **_"They looked like monsters to you?"_

**I shuddered, dropping m gun in the process. "Jesus," I sputtered in my shock. "…Mister King?"**

**I ran to his side, completely ignoring Valtiel, and fell to my knees over the injured teacher. As I leaned in, I could hear him weakly muttering, "Justice, have mercy on me." My heart sank.**

"**Don't worry," I assured him, "everything's gonna be okay. I'll get you help, I promise."**

**SLAM! Went a cage door; Valtiel advanced forward while I was wrapping my jacket around King's wounded arm. He reached upward, grabbing a fence from above, and thrust it onto the floor. In this simple gesture, he was literally sealing the Otherworld's dark energy shut. On its other side, he vanished into the darkness, and as he did my side of the hallway melted back into a **still and calming hall of checkerboard flooring and dark blue lockers.

The nightmare was over… for now.

.

I called 9-1-1 for an ambulance, and with it came a small unit of police officers. I was to be taken to my headquarters for questioning, while Randal was lifted into the ambulance to be taken to Alchemilla Hospital. I wouldn't be allowed to see him until the next morning, and that worried me; I wondered if he could survive a night in one of Silent Hill's most Otherworld-prone locations.

As it turned out, Randal slept well through the night in his hospital bed, in a room exclusive only to him on the second floor. His wounds were patched up, and told to stay another night to regain his strength. This was my opportunity to speak to this man on a more civilized plain.

He was deep in sleep when I came into the room, and I took a seat beside his bed and waited for the moment he would open his eyes. When he did open them, his mind was still in the dark nightmarish world; he let out a gasp and a whimper.

"It's okay… It's me," I said, trying to hide my guilt.

His weary eyes fell on my face. "…Detective."

"I owe you an apology, Mister King. I was the one who…"

"I know," he said before gulping to soothe his dried throat. "…You don't have to explain yourself."

"But I do… I thought you were one of them- those shadow monsters."

He sighed deeply before muttering, "In your eyes, aren't all cultists monsters?" He noticed the look of surprise in my eyes and added, "I know you, Detective Mason. Everyone in The Order knows your story. You're the reason why we've all but disappeared into obscurity… Allow me to be the first to say, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"For what Claudia did to you and your father."

I bit my lip as my gaze hit the floor. For too long I had tried to forget those days; seeing a therapist for a few years proved fruitless, moving from place to place didn't help either, and now the past was looking me square in the face. It was a little overwhelming, I'll admit, but instead of breaking down I sighed. Sighing was just about the only thing my strength would allow.

"There… There is a story that explains why we worship Samael as our God."

"You don't have to tell me, I really don't want to hear it." I turned my head away, and I could tell that he picked up on my resentment.

The frown on his face was sincere. "…I'm truly sorry, Detective."

"Cheryl. …My name is Cheryl."

"Cheryl. I'm sorry."

I hung my head. "Not your fault," I whispered. "…There is something I've wanted to ask you about, something personal." I looked down on his right arm, the one with the red burn mark that I had observed from my first meeting with him. "Where did you get that mark?"

He sighed, "I've earned that mark… I was there when Kaitlyn set the old church on fire. I was the one that saved her; I pulled her out of there and was burned a bit in the process."

I figured as much, there had to be a connection between him and Kaitlyn. "Why didn't you say anything at the police station? And what were you even doing there?"

"I was told by my authorities to keep an eye on the building- it was condemned, but there was reason for us to think someone would repeat Claudia's actions. …And why I didn't tell you before? I was afraid, I guess. I knew how much you hated me and my Order…"

He started to wiggle in his bed, and I rested my hand on his good arm to calm his nerves. "I have just one other question: I found your journal in your house, the ones with dates and times. What exactly does it mean?" He paused to breathe and I frowned, "It's okay if you're up to-"

"No, no. I can tell you," he panted. "…I was fascinated with the Otherworld, despite its dark powers. I wanted to see if it had a pattern, a cycle. So I wrote down the times I knew it had manifested itself into this dimension. But it was a silly experiment; there are no patterns to its cycle. It just... appears when it wants to, it seems."

Now I felt really guilty. "I should have figured as much… I was willing to believe you were somehow involved in… Nevermind, it doesn't matter."

"…So, what happens now?"

"I told my chief that I mistook you for a burglar or something, to explain why you were shot. Then I told him you were just drunk and delusional; they may slap a fine on you or something, but it's better than jail."

"You didn't have to…" His voice was starting to fade.

"You need more rest, Mister King."

"Randal… I figure, since we're on a first name basis now…"

"Fine, Randal it is then." I rose from my chair and announced, "I'm going back to the station to tie some loose ends. You get the easy part: lay down and sleep.

"Thank you… No really, thank you for coming. I feel much better now."

I believed him, and gave him a nod before leaving his room. To be honest, the visit also made me feel better; for the first time in a long time, I've found a cultist I could trust. And yet, there was still so much more mysteries to be solved.

.

The day went by very quickly, and it was dusk before I knew it. I spent most of the day at home, watching television and trying to rub off my nerves from my latest adventure. But just as I was finally settling in, I heard rustling coming from my front door. I glanced at the doorway, and saw a letter. How odd, I had already gotten that day's mail.

Before I even thought to pick up the letter, I rushed to the door and opened it to see Howard the mailman walking away. "Howard!" I called out, waving him down.

He stopped and looked back and gave me a friendly wave. "Hey there, Ms. Mason."

"Miss a letter today, did you?" I smiled.

"Well, I guess you could say some letters come at their own time." He turned and started back on his trail, leaving me puzzled.

I wasn't in the mood to question him or his fancy way of talking, so I just bent down and picked up the letter. The address read, _"Saint Maria's Orphanage."_ I opened the envelope, and realized that nothing was inside. I was stunned; an envelope with no letter? Now _that_ was odd.

"Saint Maria's…" I mused. Perhaps something was waiting for me there. Perhaps someone wanted me to go there.

.

I arrived at the orphanage at dusk. The building was a renovated church, possibly one dating back hundreds of years. It seemed friendly enough, but something inside me churned as I approached the building, it was that same feeling I get when I sense a dark presence. This place was not what it seemed.

I knocked on the front door, and to my surprise a small flap on the doorway opened, like one of those old-fashioned peepholes. On the other side was a nun dressed in typical black and white garment. She seemed Catholic, but my instincts were still on high alert.

"Welcome to Saint Maria's," she said in an old but pleasant voice. "May I help you, child?"

I held out my badge routinely. "Hey there, I'm Detective Cheryl Mason. I've been investigating an apparent suicide, but just recently got a lead to this place. May I come in?"

"We welcome all of the Lord's children. Please, do come in Detective." She closed the flap and opened the door fully.

As I stepped inside, I felt a skin-tingling chill. "Brr, haven't you people ever heard of heaters?"

"This is an old building," confessed the nun as she followed behind me. "But the children seem to enjoy this place, all things considered."

"Yes… This orphanage. I've heard of it, but never bothered to look into it."

The nun chuckled innocently, "There is nothing wrong with sheltering the homeless, or give parentless children some guidance, detective. But I must ask, why exactly would you think we would be involved in someone's suicide?"

I turned around to face her, holding my arms to fight the cold air. "Do the names 'Kaitlyn Lancaster' or 'Randal King' ring a bell to you, sister?"

She replied, "Kaitlyn Lancaster, no… But Randal King, he was one of our orphans. He was brought to us years ago, when he was a young boy."

"Aha," I smiled, satisfied that I was getting somewhere. "So you know what he's involved with these days, don't you?"

The nun shook her head, looking confused. "Randal graduated from our home when he was eighteen; we know nothing of his present activities… Although, he does write to us once in a while, we know he teaches at Midwich High School."

"Yes, about that. A young girl died there recently, and he was a witness."

"Oh, merciful heavens." The nun frowned and signed a cross on her forehead and shoulders, almost like a reflex. "That is tragic news... Is Randal alright, if I may ask?"

"Well, he's okay I guess… But that's not what I'm here to talk about, I need to know more about him on a personal level."

"Why is that, detective? Surely, you don't think he's a killer."

"I know he's not, sister… but he is part of The Order." As I gazed into her soft eyes, I tried to get a reading on this nun. As soon as I mentioned the Order, I notice her flinching for a brief moment. "You know of The Order, don't you sister?"

She tried to brush off her fright by shaking her head and saying, "There is only one order, and that is the Lord God's order."

I wasn't satisfied, so I pushed forward. "Are you referring to the Catholic God, or Samael?"

She backed up a bit. "Detective, please."

"Just tell me what you know, sister. I need to know."

"I am only a mere servant of the Lord."

"It's for Randal's sake."

That stopped her in her tracks, and she fell silent, her eyes beamed with both concern and curiosity.

"You care for him, sister, I can tell. The Otherworld's gotten one of his students and he's trying to save her soul. I want to help, but I need to know everything."

"…What did you say your name was?"

"Cheryl. Cheryl Mason… I used to go by 'Heather.'"

"…The Lord doth work in mysterious ways. Follow me, Miss Mason."

She led me deep into the building's interior, passing by wings of children's rooms and small corridors leading to playrooms or eating halls, until we came to the one wing of the building that was still reserved for prayer. It was a small church-like room, with aisles of seats and stained glass windows on the stone walls. There were small chandeliers on the ceiling, and up ahead was a long curtain that hid what should have been the crucifix of Christ.

As the nun approached the curtain, I stopped in the center of the room, just taking in the atmosphere. It had been a long time since I had seen such a peaceful looking church. But then, I saw her pull back the curtain to reveal the idol tacked to the front wall, and I gasped loudly. The nun stood in front of the revealed sculpture of the false god Samael, with inscriptions of ancient texts surrounding him and his devilish, goat-like face.

"You… you're all in on it," I realized. "You _are_ The Order!"

The nun defensively begged, "Please, detective, allow me to explain."

"You all brainwashed him, is that it? Do you brainwash all of these orphans?"

"I know this is a shock, but please."

"They're not really orphans, are they? I'll bet you bastards kidnapped them, just so you can let all this nonsense go on!" Angrily, I pulled out my gun and nearly aimed it at the nun's head.

But then she fell to her knees, almost teary-eyed. "Please, Miss Mason! I beg you, do not misunderstand our cause! We are not evil people, we are simply following the work of our Lord."

Then it hit me just then, these people must have been brainwashed too. And if that were the case, then I had no reason to judge them or even be angry with them. Reluctantly, I lowered my gun and growled, "Talk."

The nun rose to her feet and began her story: "In ancient texts, Samael is regarded as an Angel of Death. He is both benevolent and a tester of men's wills. He judges men's souls; he destroys those he deems wicked and leads the good to Paradise. He is the one who will bring about The Rapture, the time when all of God's chosen will enter Paradise while the mortal world falls into eternal darkness."

"If he's an angel, then why give him the upgrade to God status?"

"You see, Detective, our people's beliefs were changed over time. My ancestors were among the first to settle in this town, after it was taken from the natives… We may have been Christian at the time, but soon after we settled here, our founding fathers discovered the, uh, 'Otherworld,' as you call it. There, it's said, the founders came in contact with the great Samael himself, and told them that he was watching over all of mankind. Something about that meeting changed the views of my people. We then became fully committed to Samael, the Creator and Destroyer, because he alone will shape the fate of our world, and our souls."

"So, you've completely edited out all other angels and demons and even the Christian God for this one, and all because he came to your founders through the Otherworld?"

"That is the general belief."

"Well, who's to say that they were lied to? What if 'Samael' was actually the Devil in disguise?"

She couldn't help but crack a smile. "Heh… It's an interesting theory, Detective. But even if it were true, you must know that we never planned on bringing our God to earth. It would disrupt the laws of space and time, something Claudia Wolf did not fully understand… After you defeated her version of God, we decided to never again forcibly tap into the powers of the Otherworld. It proved to be far too dangerous."

"But what about these children? Do you feed them these lies?"

"They are not lies, detective. Everyone is free to believe what they will, but we do try to teach some of our children the ways of Samael. It is vital that some people of this town remembers the truth, that there is indeed another side to this land, a side that only the most worthy can conquer… Don't you see, Miss Mason? We are trying to save these children from becoming…" she stopped, unable to speak the words for fear she may jinx the fate of her students.

"So," I nodded, "you taught Randal your ways, and now he's part of your legacy. But I still don't see the difference between what you're doing with these kids, and what Leonard Wolf did to his daughter."

The nun hung her head in shame. "Leonard, Claudia, Dahlia… They all had lost their way. It is true, not all of us are worthy of seeing the truth. But Randal is a good man, detective. If anyone can save the soul of that lost child, he can."

"Like I said before, I want to help… But after seeing all this, how can I trust that there won't be another Claudia?"

"I… I cannot say. But on behalf of our Order, I am deeply and truly sorry for what she has-"

"Save it. Just tell me what I need to do to end this nightmare."

"We know of the dark creatures, and we have ways of thwarting them. I have some items for you; use them and pass them on to Randal. …Do you still not trust me, detective?"

I paused for a moment to consider her kind offer. Then I told her, "I met a man like Randal once before, but neither one of them told me this much about the Order."

"There is still much you need to understand, Miss Mason. We don't usually spread our beliefs to outsiders, but considering everything you've been through, you have a right to know all."

I left the orphanage some time later, just as nighttime fell. There was a clear sky, filled with stars and a half-full moon. I was carrying a small satchel of new anti-monster items, some I planned on keeping for myself. But there was still one object I had on me that I treasured above all others: my compass.

I looked onward, and saw a disturbing image: smoke rising from Brookhaven Hospital. I whipped out my compass, and sure enough its arrow was pointing dead ahead at the smoke. The Otherworld had opened again.

"Randal…" He was in danger; I could feel it in my turning gut.

.

**While he was trying to sleep, Randal's body started to sweat profusely. But it wasn't that he was gaining a fever, the entire room temperature was rapidly rising. When he opened his eyes, he realized that he was no longer in a bed, but rather strapped to a metal wheel, his arms and legs stretched to their limits. **

**He smelled smoke emulating from beneath him; he was placed directly over a horizontal furnace, which looked more like a small metallic volcano oozing with hot orange liquid. The wheel he was strapped onto was held up by a chain, connecting to the ceiling; it was as though his prison was a chandelier with no candles, just one helpless victim awaiting certain doom.**

**He started to pant, both out of fear and because the heat of the dark room was starting to suffocate his lungs. He looked upward at the ceiling and realized that the chain had a pulley system connected to it; it was designed to either lower or raise the chandelier trap with a simple tug. And only one creature had the chain in her clutches; she phased through the ceiling, her melted skin matching its reddish tone. She was three times her mortal size, wearing a white mouth-less mask with black eyes, her long black hair dripping from her melted head.**

**In disbelief, he blinked. "…Kaitlyn? Is that you?"**

**The creature didn't speak; it only stared back at Randal with its empty eyes and its fists clenched the chain threateningly.**

"**K… Kait," he started to plea with shortness of breath. "You don't have to do this… This isn't you, you're not a murderer."**

**She shook the chain, almost playfully, causing his wheel to tremble. When he failed to show any additional terror, her grip on the chain slowly weakened, letting the chandelier begin to descend toward the open furnace below.**

**Randal closed his eyes and began to softly pray to his god Samael, even while the metal of his trap was starting to reach dangerously high temperatures. This was going to hurt… badly.**

.

**TBC**


	5. The Trial

_Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I can hear his voice outside, calling for me: _"Cheryl… Cheryl?"

_It starts out soft, then it gets louder and louder, as if he's passing right by my house. I try not to listen, because I know it's just my mind playing tricks on me again._

"Cheryl, where are you? …Cheryl!"

_But every once in a while, I find myself getting out of bed, putting on my night robe, and run outside into the nightly mist. I follow his voice in the false hope that I'll find him._

"Cheryl… Cheryl…"

_There are nights when I even call back to him. "Daddy… Daddy, it's me! I'm here, Daddy!"_

_I can't see anything in the thick fog, much like he couldn't way back then. I'm just as lost as he was, except my situation is much worse. Back then, he eventually found me, but I'll never find him._

"Cheryl…? Cheryl, where are you?"_ His voice begins to fade._

"_Daddy, over here! I'm here…!"_

"Cheryl… Cheryl…"_further and further his voice goes, until it's barely a whisper._

"_Daddy, please… Come back! Come back…" _

_Finally I stop. I give up. Not because I want to, but because I have to. It was all just a nightmare- or more like a memory, one that may haunt me forever. I shiver in the cold and huddle myself. I'm all alone. I force myself to go back into the house, remembering that he's gone and never coming back. Every time, it pains me. It makes me cry._

_I miss you, Daddy._

.

**V: Shattered Memories**

.

"_Officer Mason? Officer Mason, where are you? Do you copy?"_ came the voice of my sergeant through my radio communicator in my police cruiser.

I was driving like a maniac through Central Silent Hill when he called me. Impatiently I picked up my walkie-talkie with my free hand and replied, "Copy, Sarge. I'm on Bachman Road and on my way to Alchemilla Hospital right now."

"_Copy that. What's the situation at Alchemilla?"_

"I have a lead witness there in a case… I need to check on him. I can't really explain it right now." As I was speaking, I had to make a sharp right turn, nearly losing my focus.

"_We've just received a call regarding a group of juvenile delinquents over at-"_

"Learn to drive, asshole!" I screamed at the car in front of me that I nearly rammed into as he cut into my lane. He was lucky I had lightning-fast reflexes.

"_All units! Repeat, we need_ all _units at Midwich High School, now!"_

"No can do, Sarge. This witness is in serious trouble, and I need him to stay alive."

"_I repeat: all units at Midwich High, no excu-"_

I shut off the radio. I could state my case to him later.

As I veered into Chricton Street and headed south, I noticed a haze coming over my windows. It was a cool night with no sign of a sudden temperature change, so this could only mean one thing.

"Ugh," I groaned. "Here we go."

I had to make a sudden stop just a few blocks from the hospital before the mist completely covered my vision from the driver's seat. Outside, the mist was starting to blanket everything, turning my car and road ahead into a **faint grey hue. I armed myself with a small pistol, as well as a satchel given to me at the orphanage, carrying "holy" relics to ward off the dangers ahead. I turned on the small flashlight clipped onto my jacket and moved forward; my vision may have been impaired, but I was already on the right track. **

**The hospital seemed to be frozen in a sheet of ice, but as I approached the front doors I could clearly see my reflection looking back at me. I boldly entered the building. There was no electricity, as usual, but the light of my flashlight bounced off of a hall of glass mirrors which seemed to illuminate everything. This wasn't ice… it was glass.**

**I glanced around at the glass walls with a smug smirk on my face. "A mirror maze? Really?" I said to the Otherworld aloud. I then shrugged, "Why don't you just send me back to the old funhouse while you're at it?"**

**I pulled out my compass, and it pointed straight ahead. My eyes were so focused on the red arrow, that I failed to see that my reflection kept changing with every plate of glass that I passed by. In one, I was my younger self, in my old white sleeveless jacket over my orange turtleneck and long green skirt with long brown boots. In another, I was even younger, with long raven-black hair and pale skin, wearing a navy blue school uniform. In yet another, I was wearing my old white sleeveless jacket again, only this time it was open, with a red long-sleeved zippered shirt and black top underneath. Strange. None of those shadows really mattered, not even the one which I passed by as I turned the corner, which showed me as a very tall black-cloaked figure with a white mouth-less face.**

**.**

**I headed upstairs to the second level, where I believed Randal was because that was where I saw him in the real world. My compass' arrow was starting to shake and turn in all directions; it seemed to be thrown off by the mirror walls. Plus, there was a certain smell in the air, the smell of drying blood, which is what my compass might have been targeting. Where there was blood, there were usually monsters. I put the compass into the satchel over my arm and replaced it with my gun, ready for a fight.**

**I could hear movement in Randal's room, so I stealthily crept around the doorway to peer inside. What I saw was a tall masculine figure dressed in a long red robe, its head covered by a white surgical mask and matching cap. It was standing over a long table as a small set of round ceiling lights beamed down on the table, as though the figure was performing surgery on someone… or something.**

**With my gun still ready to fire, I walked slowly toward the red figure as quietly as possible. I noticed that he wasn't the least bit aware of me, a rare trait in monsters. Perhaps it was time to check if this figure was friend or foe; from my satchel I pulled out a pair of opera binoculars blessed with magic. I peered through them, and saw a light blue aura coming from the red-cloaked surgeon. Also, it was no longer dressed in red, but in a classy suit and long coat. In fact, the back of his head looked a little familiar. Bravely I walked around the table to see this person face to face. Through my binoculars, I saw his face as that of Randal's. But this couldn't be right! Randal's arm was completely bandaged up, how could he be performing surgery?**

**Then I looked down on the table, and realized that the shadow was cutting into a rather large toad and with a pair of tweezers he was removing the toad's innards. I then remembered that he was a Biology teacher at the school and conducted yearly dissections. This must have been the Otherworld's interpretation of his work. I sighed, figuring that this wasn't really a monster at all, just a shadow.**

**The red figure walked out of the room, not once taking notice of me as though I didn't exist. I thought it strange that he would take out the toad's insides and then just leave it there to rot, when suddenly its back left leg kicked! **_**Uh-oh,**_** I thought.**

**Uh-oh was right, the creature- we'll call it a Kappa- not only sprung to life but its skin turned inside-out before my eyes, giving off a fleshy complexion with throbbing blue veins and inversed eyes. Worse than that, it grew three times in size and its fingers and toes stretched out and sharpened like claws. It lunged at me, not giving me any time to shoot at it; it made such a great leap that it threw itself out of the room and into the mirrored hallway. But it only got worse from there.**

**While I was exiting the surgery room, the Kappa took a quick look at all of its reflections, up to about ten of them I think. Those reflections crawled out of the walls as though the glass barrier was nothing more than a curtain to pass through. Now I was faced with a dozen Kappas.**

"**Oh, you gotta be kidding me," I groaned softly.**

**With protruding oval faces where their frog mouths would be, they all jumped at me. I fired away, the bullets splattering them with each hit. Some managed to claw at my legs, but a swift kick at them proved to be helpful. It wasn't long before my gun emptied; desperately I reached into my satchel to pull out the only other weapon I had: a phurba- a three-sided knife used in ritual sacrifice, so said the nun who gave it to me. She told me that phurba blades were designed to harm even demons, so how could I refuse such a gift? Just as she promised, the triangular knife cut down more Kappas than my bullets could ever hope to.**

**I gripped tighter to the knife's handle and grinned, "I think I like this thing."**

**With that group destroyed, I ran down the hall to head for the staircase, but I could hear something tailing me. There were more of them, I suppose, all crawling out of patient's rooms or mirrors. It wasn't my concern, but perhaps it should have been because they caught up to me before I reached the exit.**

**Just as I pulled at the door handle to the stairway, a Kappa jumped from behind and slammed the door shut in my face. I tried swiping at it with my phurba, but it lashed back with a tongue made of its innards- gross! The "tongue" met with my knife's blade and was sliced clean in half, causing the inside-out frog to wail in pain. Another shot its own "tongue" at me, and smacked my compass out of my left hand.**

"**Ah, sbit!" I cursed in a half whisper. I tried to reach for it, but a Kappa kicked it out of reach with its finger-like claws.**

**I was cornered, but not yet beaten. I pushed them back with my blade, wisely taking them out one at a time, even allowing some of them to whiplash me with their tongues. In the end, I was bruised and my legs were shot, but I was the only one left standing. I could have tried to look for m compass, but I knew it would only hinder my progress, so instead I followed my instincts into the staircase.**

**.**

**The chandelier trap stopped just three feet above the furnace; Randal could see small yellow spots of fire rising from the sides of his metal prison, showing just how close he was now to being burned. Yet his eyes were still focused on the creature on the ceiling, its head cracking like an egg.**

"**I understand why you're angry, Kaitlyn," he said somberly. ""I know you think I had failed you… and maybe I have. I didn't see that you were suffering on the inside. I should have known better… But believe me, I want to help you now. I'm here for you."**

**The creature's head continued to crack, especially its forehead since that was where she received the most head trauma upon death. Pieces of her red skin started to peel off and fall like dust.**

"**You don't have to suffer anymore, Kaitlyn. Just listen to me, let me help you find peace."**

**She remained quiet, allowing her head to crumble even more, to the point where a giant gap in her forehead was formed. No longer able to contain her rage, the beast let out a great bellow, shaking both the chain and the trap in her furious grip. In response, a much smaller creature began to scale up the walls, a dark doctor in bloodied surgical garment. It was carrying something round on its back; Randal didn't know what it was until the doctor reached the monster on the ceiling. It held out the massive half-circle helmet, and crowned the now half-headed Bogeyman with it. In this moment, the ghoul of Kaitlyn became Randal's worst nightmare, the unforgiving Justice.**

"**No… Please, no more," he pleaded. But of course, his pleas would go unanswered.**

**The chandelier was lowered a bit more…**

**.**

**Just as I expected, I was met with dark nurses in the heart of the hospital. With twisted faces and torn garments, they lunged at me with their lead pipes and butcher knives. Not a problem; my trusty gun was on hand, and thanks to some careful expedition, I found new rounds of bullets and even a health drink. It's funny how the Otherworld seems to want to kill you, yet it litters the playing field with helpful trinkets. I took them down like paper targets in a shooting gallery. But they did succeed in one sense, they stalled my progress.**

**After the fifth nurse fell to my bullets, I shoved away the sixth and charged toward the staircase and headed downward to the first sub floor. With great force, I kicked the door open, only to be welcomed by a dark doctor, with a face bloodied as well as distorted, complete with sunken craters where his eyes would be and dressed in bloodied surgical garment, and wielding a three-foot-long syringe. I kicked him right in the face and pressed on.**

**The walls were still glassy with mirror reflections; this was starting to get on my nerves, because while it looked like I was moving forward, these mirrors gave off the sense that I was running in circles. And worse yet, all of the doors were hidden, so there was no telling which way to go. But I couldn't stop now, not when I knew a life was at stake. I shrugged off and ignored every glass plate… except for one.**

**In the center of the hall, I passed by one mirror plate, my shadow nowhere in sight. I saw a hint of snowflakes in the reflection, which I must admit intrigued me. I stopped and glanced back; yes, it was snowing in that reflection. Could this have been another portal? With that in mind, I carefully walked back to it, to peer into it face to face. Imagine my surprise when instead of looking back at myself, I saw someone else, someone fighting through the snow, a man.**

**I couldn't see his face at first, because it was shadowed by torrents of falling snow. By the look of his arms huddling his body, I could tell he was shivering, probably even freezing to death. The wind was powerful enough to knock him on his knees for a moment, but he grabbed onto a patch of snow in the ground with his bare hand to pull himself forward. Already I pitied this man, but I wasn't prepared for the shock I would receive once he stepped out of the darkness and into view. He was a man of late twenties, short brown wind-swept hair, wearing nothing more than a black shirt, blue jeans and a short brown coat. **

**My eyes widened. …I knew this man.**

**He stopped right in front of the glass separating m world from his, as if he knew of the barrier. He stared right at me, gazing into my wide eyes. I couldn't hear his voice, but I saw his mouth move, forming the word: **_**Cheryl?**_

**I blinked. Was I dreaming? Was I really seeing this?**

**Cheryl, he mouthed. He inched closer to me, weak in his legs as though he had been wandering in the blizzard for hours. He was looking for me. **_**Cheryl… Is that you?**_

**Tears were already forming in my eyes. "D-… Daddy…?"**

**He tripped and fell forward; I was tempted to reach out and catch him, but I knew I couldn't. I watched as he pulled himself back up with the little strength he had left. His face was pale, even blue-hinted. He looked back up at me; I knew he could see me. **_**Cheryl, sweetie… Help me… **_**He reached out with shivering hands.**

"**Daddy," I peeped again. Without even realizing it, I was reaching out with my own hands to touch his. I could see him breathing heavily, his breath smoking against the deadly chill in the air. We were so close, our hands could touch…**

**SMASH!**

**As soon as my palms met with his, the mirror's glass shattered into millions of pieces. "Daddy! NO!" But it was no use. He was gone. Even in the shattered pieces on the floor, he was nowhere to be seen.**

**I stared blankly at the stone wall where the mirror once stood, tears streaming from my eyes. My teeth grit so strongly, they were ready to crack. "That… that was totally uncalled for."**

_**Bang, bang, bang, bang!**_** Went my gun, firing at every mirror plate I could see. I didn't care anymore, I was so sick of this mind game. I wanted them all to break, every single one of them! I could hear them falling apart in the dark as I took in short breaths. That went on until my bullets were all used; I started clicking the trigger before I realized it was pointless. But I was still flustered with rage; in my last bout of frustration, I threw the useless gun down the hall.**

"**COME OUT, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" **

**I didn't know who I was screaming at- Kaitlyn, Valtiel, The Bogeyman? What did it matter anymore? I fell to my knees, exhausted and still crying like a little baby, my head hanging down as though my neck had lost all feeling. I felt nothing, not even my tears… I wanted it to be all over.**

**Then I remembered, the Otherworld is cruel- it was **_**designed**_** to be cruel. I only managed to get this far because it kept missing my weak spot. But now it had me right where it wanted me, and the only thing keeping me down was myself. I had to find my feet, and fast, or else I was going to lose this game.**

"_**Aaauuuugh!"**_** came a distant scream, echoing down the hall.**

**I gasped, recognizing the voice. "Randal."**

**I still couldn't find the will to rise to my feet, until I looked up at the ceiling. There, clinging onto a set of pipelines was my old friend Valtiel. How long he was there, I couldn't tell you. But once I saw his faceless figure, I was glad to see him for once.**

**With a pale, thin arm he reached down and handed me something I thought I had lost: my compass. I grabbed it, held it in my palms, and saw that it was pointing straight ahead. I knew now that I was close, and that the illusion of m father was the Otherworld's last ditch effort to stop me. I looked up at the twisted angel, and he responded with a rattle-shake of his head. I'm sure that if that mouth on the left side of his head could speak, it would have been telling me to get going. **

**I gave him a small nod, and crawled to my knees until my legs finally regained their muscles. I was back in the game.**

**.**

**As it turns out, there was more than one sub-level of this building. As I raced down the staircase toward the very bottom floor, I felt like I was literally descending into Hell; it got hotter and hotter with each level underground, and light was diminishing all the while. But my focus was on the red arrow of my compass; I ran down that last hall like there was no tomorrow. My footsteps made clanging noises; I was running on metal flooring. That was the only other thought that crossed my mind; I didn't even bother to see if anything was following me. Perhaps something was, but whatever it was, it couldn't keep up.**

**I saw a light up ahead, a red glow. I knew that was where Randal was; I could still hear him screaming in agony. The walls started to cut away, revealing that I was running on a steel walkway that stood about twenty feet above the boiler system on the ground floor. At the end of m trail was a fence, blocking me off from a massive melting pot, with a chained metal circle being lowered into it from above. Then I finally realized that someone was on that circle: "Randal!" I screamed.**

**He heard me, and despite his agony he managed to call back, "Stay away! It's me she wants."**

**I looked up at the ceiling, and cringed at the sight of the creature fused to it. I'm not sure if he saw what I saw, his version of Justice perhaps, but I could tell from its long black hair and thin hourglass build that it was feminine. "Jesus, is that… Kaitlyn?"**

**I reached into the satchel given to me by the mysterious nun and pulled out my magic opera binoculars. I looked through them at this upside-down beast, and saw a young girl covered in a light blue aura. It had to be Kaitlyn, I was sure of it now.**

"**She's a lost soul, she knows not what she does," lamented the burning Randal. "…It's my fault."**

"**No! Don't think like that!"**

"**But it's true," he explained. "She blames me for her scars, for her pain and suffering… I must atone for my sin."**

"**No!" I shouted again. Then my attention turned to the long-haired, fleshy beast above our heads. "Stop it, Kait! Stop this right now! This man tried to save you- he DID save you! You're killing an innocent person… Listen to me!"**

**Randal was already looking defeated. "It's no use, detective… If this be my fate, then let it be."**

**No, I couldn't let it end like this. I reached into my satchel and shuffled through the items inside: the phurba? Too small. A vial of holy water? Sure, that may have worked, if Randal was being lowered onto a candle, maybe. A prayer book with the Halo of the Sun inscription of the cover? Now **_**there**_** was something. I opened the book, and skimmed through the pages only to see that it was all written in an ancient text with markings I couldn't understand.**

"**Oh, come on! You people couldn't give me the English text?" I yelled in frustration.**

**Another haunting scream from Randal confirmed that he was now cooking like a slab of steak on a grill, his clothes burning and his skin turning brown with ash.**

"**Fuck it," I cursed softly, and held up the book so that the ceiling creature could see it. "In the name of Samael the Destroyer," I prayed half-heartedly, "I command you to stop and fall back! …Cease and desist, you foul demon! …The power of Samael compels you?" **

**This wasn't working; the creature was oblivious to me and continued to lower the chandelier until it was mere inches away from the inferno. This taught me not to trust in a faith that my heart wasn't fully devoted to. All the while, Randal was burning alive. I could smell the scent of his cooking flesh in my nostrils.**

**In a moment of despair, I hung my head. "Valtiel," I prayed softly, "help me."**

**Justice's chain suddenly stopped, and even she was surprised at this. Both she and I turned our heads downward to find my disfigured angel pulling back on the other end of the chain, counteracting the bigger monster's pull. The two of them exchanged silent glares of discontent. This was my chance; Valtiel's grip could only hold for so long against such a big and powerful demon.**

**All of a sudden, I had a Eureka moment: the holy water. It might not have been enough to douse the flames, but it could have done damage to the ceiling demon if I could just get it to her. And there was no way I could just throw the phurba at her, she was too far up. …Bullets. I needed bullets.**

**Though I recovered my pistol from earlier, it lacked what it needed most, so I was forced to climb down a ladder onto the ground floor to search for a packet of bullets. There had to be some, there was always some when I really needed them. I scrambled around pipes and valves, over wires and iron barrels of sorts, until **_**finally**_** I came to a small corner where a small box of bullets was waiting for me. By now, Randal had been eerily quiet, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet.**

**Quickly I opened the vial of holy water and splashed it onto my new items before loading them into my gun. I aimed straight upward, into Justice's misshapen face. "I hope you're thirsty. Drink up, bitch."**

**BANG!**

**The ceiling creature let out a horrible howl as blue blood poured from its elongated neck from where she was struck. She released the chain, but Valtiel's grip was still on it and pulled as hard as he could and managed to lift the chandelier away from the furnace's flames. The beast crawled away into a dark area, presumably retreating back to the pits from which it came. **

**I watched as Valtiel held the chain with one hand and turned a crank with the other, turning the direction of the pulley so that he could land the chandelier on the ground, a few feet away from the furnace. My, but he was a lot stronger than he looked! I was bemused, but not relieved; there was still one matter left to tend to: Randal. **

_**Did he make it?**_** I pondered this as I walked toward the chandelier, smoke rising from it that concealed his condition until I was practically looking down on him. I waved smoke away from my face to see him…**

"**Aw, Randal…" I frowned. His body was completely covered in a deep brown blanket of ash and rot, almost as though he were cocooned. There was no face, no signs of a body, just a coat of ash.**

**Darkness fell all around me, and I froze in time. This was a rare event in the Otherworld; it doesn't usually just stop. I felt as though I was having an out of body experience, or perhaps drifting into sleep. But, why? What did it mean? Before I lost consciousness, a terrible thought crossed both my mind and lips:**

"**Did I… fail him?"**

.

**TBC**


End file.
